Fleeting Moments
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: Flash contemplates the importance of small moments and struggles with his feelings for Peter. Talking to Spiderman happens to be easier than talking to Peter, and a few things begin to make sense when Flash starts putting the pieces together. TASM verse. Spiderflash


Moments were fleeting. Flash knew that. He'd been forced to realize just how important it was to take hold of important moments when he was very young, when his father would hit his mother and he would hesitate to intervene, and then when he got older and he would step between them before a beating and receive one himself. It always hurt, being hit, but it kept his mother from enduring it, and that was all he cared about. And the difference was made in microscopic fleeting moments.

Flash wasn't always very bright. He didn't know how to properly treat others, only how to hurt and how to defend from being hurt. It was unfortunate that he took so much from his father for so long. He didn't see how much pain he was truly causing until he tried to defend and it wasn't accepted. Flash wanted to tell someone, tell them about his father and his mother and the bruises under his clothes and not to trust the police, but he couldn't, because the one person he wanted to tell didn't want to hear it.

From the day he'd started high school and spotted the school photographer at basketball practice, he'd known he felt something... more, but it was hidden under so much coiling anger that the only way he could express himself was the same way a child did – with teases and jeers meant to draw the attention of the one he liked. He got lost in that state for so long that he forgot how to be himself. He was just the jerk jock.

That was his legacy, wasn't it?

Something that Flash could never forget was the day it all changed, the day the photographer boiled over. Flash remembered the angry, vengeful pain in those brown eyes as they pinned him to the lockers in high school. He couldn't forget the way the other had turned away and hid in a sleeve, trying to hide how he wanted to cry, because he knew. Peter knew Flash understood, and he knew he wasn't mad at Flash, and he was ashamed. And it was that vulnerability that was burned into Flash's memories forever. Because he'd never seen it in those brown eyes before. He'd remember that emotion until the day he died.

That and the way the accompanying mouth always called him Eugene when he refused to listen.

He remembered beating up that face and screaming at it and bouncing basketballs off it, but all of that blurred together. Unimportant days. But the one day it mattered, he'd only gotten a few seconds to make a true impact.

"It feels better, right?"

I understand how you're feeling, how you want to lash out and hurt anyone who gets close because you're sad and scared and angry, and you feel like it's only fair to make someone else hurt as much as you are.

"I get it. I'm sorry. Okay?"

But you're better than me, better than all of us. This isn't you. Don't do it. Don't do it. You'll be okay. You'll get through this. You're strong enough. Don't do it... Don't do it.

And he didn't know if that moment was etched into that brilliant brain as much as it was etched into his own, but he hoped so, and he suspected so... because they never fought again – just teases. And he just wanted to hug those growing arms, that nerdy heart, but he knew it would be pushed away, that it would take more than one fleeting moment to change all between them.

He took tiny moments throughout the time after high school – purposely seeking Peter out to give a friendly hug, a kind comment, a mutual interest noted out loud. The things he really wanted to say never came out, the apologies and the confessions. Each moment was too quick, too soon gone, bolting before he had the chance to find the words.

No, he wanted to say after each missed opportunity. No that's not what I meant. No, I'm sorry. You don't understand. I never meant to hurt you. I was young. I was dumb. I want to take it all back. I want to start where high school ended, with us as complacent classmates turning into friends. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.

Instead he just kept grabbing chances to interact at every tiny chance he got, both when they were on campus together or when he'd just happen to pass by Peter leaving the Bugle. They went out for coffee one cold November day. They grabbed dinner once at a fast food joint after they both got off work and talked about old friends. Flash often found himself texting, sending his words across the city to a small apartment bedroom, in the middle of the night and was always stunned when he got quick replies.

"So... how's the girlfriend?" he asked one day. "Still choosing science over you?"

"Not choosing," and the beautiful eyes looked sad, but nothing like that day. "Chose."

"Aw man. I'm sorry," Flash said, although he was only sorry because it hurt the person he cared about, not because the relationship was over.

And those lips quirked up in a smirk. "No you're not," they said.

"Would you hate me if I wasn't?" Flash asked.

A shrug. "No."

"Got your eye on anyone new yet?" he couldn't help but ask, his stomach clenching as he waited for the answer.

The lips pressed thoughtfully together, picked up on one side, and then there was an embarrassed shake of the head and a mumbled, then repeated louder "No. No, there's no one."

Flash leaned closer. "You hesitated. You're embarrassed."

"No. Only cause you- well you know- and I- well I can't just- Nope. No. There's no one. Stop smiling. I'm serious." But they were smiling too, so Flash let his grin last. He loved making that brain short circuit, watching the other ramble and stumble over words and ideas. He absolutely loved it.

They parted on amiable terms, and Flash called out a "Get home safe" before ducking into a cab. It was returned with a wave and then bike and taxi took off in two different directions.

Out of respect for the romantically dead, Flash waited an entire week before he pulled out his phone and asked "Can we meet up?" The city superhero swung past right when he hit send, and Flash could only call that a good omen.

Half an hour later, Flash was standing by a hot dog vendor and watching that ruffled brown head run into view, even more tousled than usual. After a moment of panting breaths, Flash handed over a hot dog.

"Say Parker," he began as the other ate. "I really like hanging out with you. Should've done this more during school."

An encouraging nod and a sentence spoken around the beef and bread. "Me too, Flash."

Nervousness. Anxiety. Now was a fleeting moment, a chance to change things. The words just had to come out right. Peter's forehead creased in confusion, almost as though he could hear the way Flash's heart was pumping harder.

"I was wondering though," Flash said, "if maybe you'd want to make these hang outs a more permanent thing."

He watched for understanding to register on that innocent face. He saw the heavy swallow, the hesitation.

"You know, like dating, only you wouldn't have to call it dating. Sorry. Do you understand what I'm saying?" And now Flash's blood was racing, because he'd said it out loud and those brown eyes did not look excited. If anything, they looked frightened.

"No."

And just like that, Flash regretted eating his hot dog. "No?"

"Sorry. I just-... It's not- Maybe we could-" A groan of annoyance. "Sorry. That's not-"

"No worries, Parker," Flash assured, smiling and shaking his head although he could barely contain his disappointment. "Forget I said anything."

"But Flash-"

"Get a haircut, Peter." Flash ruffled the messy locks and backed away. "I have to head to work now. Just wanted to buy you lunch. We'll hang out later, alright?"

And he didn't stay to see what kind of emotion was in those brown eyes now.

It was easy to mess up the tiny moments in life or miss them entirely for that matter. Flash had not expected to mess that one up, and over the rest of the day he only became more and more upset with himself for it. He should have waited. He should have said it differently. He should have asked to meet somewhere nicer – not the damn hot dog stand. So many things he could have said or done, but he didn't, and he felt like a failure.

Not once did he blame anyone but himself.

A day turned into two turned into a week turned into two weeks, and he didn't answer calls or texts. He was ashamed and he was angry and he was low. He felt the anger building in his limbs until it felt just like high school all over again, when he and his mom were still living with his dad, before they moved out and his parents got a divorce. It felt like seeing kids in class who were happy and smiling and not hiding bruises and wanting more than anything to leave a mark on any number of them so they would know how it felt.

Isn't that how all heartbreak is? No one in the world could possibly know how you feel, and you wish more than anything that someone did, and sometimes you force someone to.

Flash felt that desire under his skin, bubbling up and flexing his fingers, and it was all about to boil over. It was the assaulter's unfortunate luck to be caught in the act by Flash in this state. The woman ran off, clutching her clothes to her, as Flash started the beating. He was yelling about keeping your hands to yourself and leaving people be. He was shouting out his anger in scolding words about unwilling partners, venting all the tension at not having the person he wanted. He was pissed off, and he wanted this man to know it. The man was already on the ground, bloody and whining, but Flash couldn't stop.

And then he wasn't punching the man anymore. He was pinned to the wall, two large black eye spots reflecting his own stunned and broken expression.

"Don't do it," Spiderman said. "This isn't you. Don't do it."

"You don't understand," Flash ground out through clenched teeth. Meeting Spiderman might have been cool if Flash could've thought of anything outside of Peter.

"I get it." Spiderman pulled back slightly, holding Flash off the ground, against the wall, at arm's length. "It feels better, right?"

The air escaped Flash's lungs like he'd been punched. His eyes began to sting. A sour, cold laugh escaped him with what oxygen was left and then he was sucking it back in between two dry sobs. He shook his head.

"No," he said, still clenching his teeth when he spoke so he wouldn't break. "No it doesn't. Not at all. And that's the sick part." Because people like Flash still hurt others, still selfishly inflicted damage to others in hopes of feeling better themselves, but any joy they got from the pain would never make it ever feel better. And yet they still did those hurtful things.

Spiderman's head eased into a tilted position, curiously taking in the site of Flash Thompson trying not to cry in front of his hero.

"You're hurt," the web slinger said. And he couldn't possibly mean in the same way as the man barely conscious on the ground behind them because Flash didn't have a scratch on him. But he was right.

Flash shook his head. "I screwed up," he said. Spiderman lowered him till his feet could touch the ground. "I confessed before I apologized. I meant to do it the other way around. And now I can't face him."

"Apologized?"

"For all the stupid shit I put him through in high school. For taking cheap shots at him when he was just trying to be a good guy, someone who would stand up for others, someone... someone like you. But I skipped all of that and went right for asking him on a date. That's so messed up. I'm so messed up."

Spiderman ducked his head against his arm and then looked back up at Flash's face, those reflective eyes giving nothing away.

"Don't be stupid," he said. "He probably said no for another reason. You'll be okay. Now promise you won't try to kill every con in the city and I'll take you... I'll take this guy in for you."

"P-Promise," Flash stuttered out, almost losing it. He felt heavy, and he missed the pressure on his shoulders when he was released.

"Get home safe." Then Spiderman and the criminal were gone.

Get home safe. It feels better, right? I get it... _It feels better, right? I get it. Your uncle died. I'm sorry._ Flash stared at the ground in front of him, pressed a hand to his shoulder where he'd been pinned_. I'm sorry. I get it. I'm sorry, okay?_

_It feels better, right?_

Flash fell back against the wall, no push needed. Those pained brown eyes glaring at him as he was shoved into the locker with enough strength to lift him off his feet. The pressure on his collarbone from strengthening fists holding him up. The ashamed turn of the head to hide emotions. _It feels better, right?_

"Peter?" he breathed out, mouth dry.

Spiderman sure knew how to control the moment. Flash had been able to admit what he'd been holding inside. He'd said it all, and Spiderman had said he'd be okay. The whole situation was like a half flipped copy of high school, of the moment that changed everything. In the day following, Flash had trouble rationalizing that so many similarities could be simply a coincidence.

Flash wasn't always bright, but he wasn't dumb. So many answered late night texts and calls. So many times apologizing that something had come up on the way to a meeting or event. So many times those eyes had been drawn away by the sound of sirens.

Relief and panic were not often felt simultaneously. Now Flash knew. There was no other explanation that made any sense to him. But what did he do with the knowledge? He'd apologized and confessed, in the wrong order but he had, and he'd been rejected. The feelings of awkwardness from the confession mixed now with growing guilt at knowing the secret and not saying anything. And there was always that fear that he was wrong. Why ruin another moment with false accusations?

Except what moment did he have to ruin? No texts. No phone calls. No meetings. He cut himself off and tried to focus on work and classes, avoiding the problem altogether. But avoiding a problem never made it go away. His mom knew that. He knew that. Eventually you had to stand up and face things, even if doing so might mean getting hurt.

Flash's moment came in a not so fleeting way. He was working, driving to pick up a board member from Oscorp and take him to a meeting across town, when a bomb took out half the street and flipped his car. Ears ringing, pinned in his seat by the dash, and hanging upside down, Flash wondered if this was the end. His car could blow up. Whoever had set the bomb could have another one right under the street below him. He might be bleeding and not even know it yet. So many ways to die with so much left unsaid.

"Peter." The name was dizzy on his lips. This could be the moment he died, and that was the most fleeting of all. Still groggy, he reached around for his phone and speed dialed his favorite brown eyes. "Peter," he groaned after six rings and a pick up that started with "Flash, I need to call you back." and continued with "Wait. What's wrong?"

What was wrong? His brain was foggy and his legs were cramped and he was hungry and he never told Peter he knew about Spiderman or that he was the most important person in Flash's life or that he looked up to him and admired him and wished he could be more like him and he never said any words of affection to him either. What was wrong?

"I can't move," Flash said. "There was an explosion-"

"The bomb?" and the worry sounded good in Flash's ears.

"I wanted to tell you-"

"Hold on, Flash. Don't say anything. You're going to be fine."

The phone disconnected. Flash cursed and tossed his phone into the roof on the other side of the car. Fleeting moments, he thought. He could never get them right. He always messed up the words. He thought of Peter smiling or laughing in the halls, of how he hid behind his camera and got the best shots, of the way he ranted when embarrassed but also how he ranted when he was talking about something that really interested him. Flash thought of his energy and his vigor and his valor. He thought of Spiderman saving people and working so hard and how Peter made time for him in the middle of all of it.

"It feels better," he murmured, closing his eyes.

The car gave a crack and the dash caved, releasing Flash's legs but also throwing the remains of the windshield splintering around the compartment. He numbly removed his seatbelt and slid out of his seat, but a wave of dizziness kept him from moving again for a minute. The sound of something dripping. He frowned.

The windows were all shattered but held on to small spikes of glass. Flash's mind was fuzzy, but he knew he needed to get out of the vehicle. Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself out the driver's side window and onto the sidewalk. A piece of glass caught his arm, but his two shirts saved his torso. When he was out, he saw Spiderman holding onto a building, searching the wreckage, while a man stood in the center, shouting about setting off more bombs.

Flash crawled to the storefront a few feet away and hoisted himself to his aching feet with the doorknob. He managed to get out "Pe-" before a second bomb went off down the street and he stumbled backwards into the store.

Bright lights controlled his vision and a ringing filled his ears, and he was certain he must have died except for the headache. When his vision cleared, the dizziness went with it for the moment, and Flash was able to ascertain that several minutes had passed. He peeled himself from the floor and walked to the doorway.

Multiple cars, like Flash's, were upturned or otherwise smashed by the explosion. Dust was still clinging to the air and several people could be heard crying for help. Fleeting moments. How many would die from this? How many could be saved? Flash expected the dizziness to return any moment and make him useless, but there was one man who could save all of them... or at least most of them.

Scanning the street, Flash found the bomber stuck to a parked car with webbing and Spiderman was poised above him, disarming him. At first Flash smiled, proud of his friend, but then the punches started. Spiderman was wailing on the madman like Flash had done to the attempted rapist, only his punches must be more lethal.

"Peter!" Flash called out and ran, limping slightly, toward the exchange. Spiderman didn't stop his assault. "Spiderman!" And his voice caught the hero's fist like a physical grab. The masked face turned to see him, took in his battered state. "This... This isn't you," Flash said.

Fleeting moments, he thought and crossed the distance between them. He grabbed the hesitating fist and held it in his own two hands.

"Peter," he whispered, staring into his own reflected gaze.

He imagined those hurt, brown eyes staring back at him, wished he could make that look stay away forever. The gloved fist relaxed and pulled away. The sound of sirens arriving pushed Spiderman farther from him, ripped him into the sky and hid him in the city.

"P-" Flash wobbled, his nausea and dizziness returning. He fell to his knees as the paramedics swarmed the scene to rescue people from the rubble. Someone was in front of Flash, asking questions that he could only reply to with variations of 'What?'

"Mild concussion and shock," he heard clear as day and he was helped to an ambulance. Maybe it was true. It was probably true. But Flash couldn't find himself caring. He was thinking of Spiderman, of those chocolate eyes, of that scared and angry expression from high school, and what he must have been thinking as he punished that man for his bombs.

Several hours later, when he was released to return home, he debated calling Peter, but then he remembered throwing his phone away and cursed again. He needed to call Peter, but the nearest pay phone was probably a ten minute walk from him and he was already at his apartment door. Tomorrow, he thought. He'd call tomorrow.

Only he didn't have to wait for tomorrow. When he flipped the lights on in his apartment, the slim figure full of power and crowned with messy brown hair was perched on the arm of his couch looking like he'd just come from school. Those brown eyes looked up when he entered and those strong hands gripped the couch and the whole figure was a bundle of nerves.

"Parker," Flash greeted with surprise. "How did you- oh. Right." Silence. This is a moment, he reminded himself. "What happened to you? Earlier, I mean. You almost-"

"I thought you were dead," the tainted voice admitted. "I mean... your car was upside down and-... and on fire."

"I got out," Flash explained as though that wasn't obvious.

"How... How did you know?" A glance cast over at the couch where the mask was laid out.

Flash frowned and stepped closer. Slowly, he placed his hands on Peter's shoulders. "_It feels better, right?_ That's exactly what I said to you in high school. That and you have a distinctive grip when you hold people off the floor. Was kind of a giveaway."

Peter's lips quirked up. "You're an idiot," he said. Then with a frown added, "Did you beat that guy up because of me? Are you- are you mad at me for turning you down?"

"Seriously?" Flash stood up tall and crossed his arms. "No. And for that matter, why _did_ you turn me down? You, or Spiderman said it wasn't because I screwed up. So why?"

A sad lift of the shoulders. "Being a superhero is hard work. Gwen didn't choose science over me to start with. I chose saving people over her too often. Cancelled dates. Missed calls. She was always worried I was going to die. So when you asked me to go out... I don't know. She knew my secret and you didn't. I couldn't imagine putting you through all that when you didn't even know why."

"Well I know now. So can we go for drinks or dinner or something tomorrow?" Flash lifted Peter's chin with his finger cupped under it.

The sad eyes seemed to burn with renewed hope, and there was a teasing grin. "I promised myself I wouldn't... but I break promises all the time, especially the ones to myself."

Those perfect lips caved under Flash's for a beautiful moment before Flash broke away. "It feels better," he said. He took a breath of the air around Peter's answering smile. "Everything finally makes sense, and I always thought you and Spiderman would make a good team."

"Good, cause sometimes I have doubts. He's not easy to deal with all the time."

"When you have doubts, I'll remind you how awesome Spiderman is. Everyone loves him, including me, and I can't date someone who doesn't." Flash couldn't stop smiling. He kept his face close to Peter's, their noses brushing against each other.

"Let's do dinner in tomorrow," Peter suggested. "Like pizza."

"Done."

They stayed close for several minutes, and Flash couldn't account for the thoughts running through that beautiful brain before him, but he was thinking about all the moments leading up to this, about how he'd missed or ruined so many and yet somehow... somehow he was still here.

"How easy can you bench press my weight?" Flash asked, sudden curiosity peeking. There was a small laugh and he was lifted as far off the ground as Peter's arms would allow. "Wow. No. You have no idea how much hotter that makes you."

He was lowered enough for them to kiss again and Flash reached out and wrapped his arms around the only person he ever wanted to tell his secrets to. So many times he'd felt like he was losing grip on situations. He wanted this to last, so he held on tight even as his feet met with the floor again and his embrace was returned.


End file.
